What's In A Name?
by whatcoloristhesky
Summary: Name: NOUN. A word or set of words by which a person, animal, place, or thing is known, addressed, or referred to. ONESHOT. With a name like Soda's, someone's bound to say something.


**A/N: This oneshot was inspired by something "Dallas" said on the 731 Boards, and will either be made of win or fail.**

**Thanks to: Jenny for helping me sort out a few things, and Allison for listening to me rant off the plot, helping out with lame Soc issues, and giving me an honest opinion.**

**Disclaimer: S.E. Hinton owns the characters you recognize; I just borrow them.

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The first thing Two-Bit Mathews ever said to Sodapop Curtis was: "Am I bleeding?" Soda and Steve had been fighting the indians and the robbers as little boys often do, and Steve accidentally tackled Sodapop the exact moment he went to throw a rock. Next thing they knew, Two-Bit was on the ground, bleeding, and Darry was yelling at Soda to go get their Mom.

The second thing Two-Bit Mathews ever said to Sodapop Curtis was: "Did he just say your name was Soda? Like the drink?" Soda was eight, Steve was nine, and Two-Bit was ten.

Four and a half years later, the three of them were hanging around behind the bleachers at one of Darry's afternoon football games. Two-Bit was over by one of the trees, trying to score a date with a few of the girls, and was failing horribly, which only served to make the other two laugh from their place in the shade. He had one arm around one girl's shoulder, the other arm around the other's waist, and both girls were giggling uncontrollably.

Steve elbowed Soda in the side, and nodded his head at the three of them. "How much you wanna bet that he loses 'em?"

Soda smirked and held out his hand. "Two bucks says they both slap 'im."

Steve grabbed hold of Soda's hand and they shook on it. "You've got yerself a deal."

The two turned back to Two-Bit who was grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Tell me, ladies," Two-Bit said, "are your daddies bakers?"

The bottle-blonde with the stuffed bra giggled and twirled her hair, looking confused. "What are you talkin' about, Two-Bit?"

He almost didn't want to say it, but Ricky Peoples had dared him to use the line on the girls before Soda and Steve had showed up, and Two-Bit wasn't about to be known as a candy-ass for his last year of junior high. Everyone knows a dare is a dare, and besides, the line _was_ pretty clever. "Well they must be, cause you've both got a _nice_ rack."

It didn't disappoint. "Uh!" the two girls exclaimed and walked away in a huff, leaving a laughing Two-Bit behind.

Steve smirked and held out his hand. "That's two bucks, man."

Soda groaned. He knew he didn't have the two dollars, but reached for his wallet anyway. "Tell ya what," he started saying, looking through his empty wallet absently as a bluff. "I bet you another two bucks I can get those girls' phone numbers."

Steve shook his head and pushed Soda playfully in the chest. "You're shittin' with me."

"Fine. Three dollars," Soda replied matter-of-factly, grinning.

Two-Bit walked over to the two boys, still chuckling. He slapped Steve on the back, and the three of them started walking under the bleachers. "What're ya'll bettin' on?"

Steve jerked his head at Soda. "Soda here thinks that he can get those girls' numbers."

Two-Bit chuckled and ran a palm over his hair, raising his eyebrows. "I dunno, man. You ain't exactly a hunk like me."

Soda laughed and punched him in the shoulder. "Oh yeah, because they were drawin' designs all over you. Man, you couldn't keep your lips from flappin' one second to get their phone numbers even if they were willin' to give 'em to ya."

Two-Bit chuckled and looked up—they were really under the bleachers now, and the view was pretty nice in Two-Bit's mind. The high school girls hadn't changed out of their school clothes and that meant all skirts for the boys to see under. "Oh yeah?" Two-Bit challenged as Steve noticed what he had been looking at.

"Yeah," Soda replied, smirking as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Steve smirked and looked at Sodapop. "Four dollars says you can't get a girl's number 'fore we leave."

Soda held out his hand and shook Steve's. "You're on."

Steve and Two-Bit pushed Soda on the ground, telling him, "And you're on the ground!" They ran off together, Two-Bit yelling, "That's some nice underwear you got there, baby!" as they did, and left a half-laughing, half-bewildered Sodapop on the ground.

The girls on the bleachers looked down, closed their legs, and glared at Sodapop who just chuckled and shrugged. "Well, it is."

"Why, you little …" a girl muttered, her face getting red, as her friends laughed around her. She smacked her friend's arm. "It ain't funny, Anna!"

Soda stood up laughing and walked away. If her boyfriend showed up—assuming she had one—well, he was sure to be pissed. And if he were on the football team … he was sure to bring friends despite the fact that Soda was Darry's brother.

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Steve tried hard to contain laughter as he lit his cigarette. Soda was just walking over to him and Two-Bit after having been gone for about ten minutes. "So'd you get those chicks' numbers?"

"Shuddup, Steve," Soda told him, and pushed his arm.

Two-Bit chuckled and ran his tongue over his bottom lip, jerking his head in the direction behind the other two. "What's that over there?"

Soda and Steve looked over their shoulders and turned. There was a group of Socs snickering about fifty feet away. They were in a circle and it looked like they were egging someone or something on.

"I dunno," Soda said, shrugging. "Let's go check it out."

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It was five Socs against two greasers—Johnny Cade and some tow-headed hood.

"Nice bruise you got there, grease," the smallest Soc said, getting a group snicker from those behind him. Compared to Johnny though, he was pretty big—at least girth wise—and Sodapop recognized him as Jeff Stimpt, one of the wrestlers at the high school.

Johnny slouched and hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. He looked pretty beat up, but it wasn't exactly shocking to see Johnny with a black eye or a bruised cheek. Hell, just the other week, Soda was sitting with Johnny as he smoked a cigarette on the front porch, waiting for Ponyboy to finish his homework. Johnny had been bruised up then too, and Soda knew it was because Johnny's dad had lost his job—Pony'd told him so.

"Your daddy give that to you?" Jeff continued. "Or are you just that clumsy?"

The tow-headed kid lit a cigarette, giving them a look so mean it could kill, as Johnny swallowed hard and narrowed his eyes. "Why don't you just leave me alone, Jeff?" Johnny asked. "I ain't done nothin' but walk past you."

Jeff cracked his knuckles. "Who said you could walk past me, grease?"

The towheaded kid let out a snort and flicked his burning cigarette at one of the other Soc's feet. "It's kind of hard not to, don'tcha think?"

The two groups walked closer to each other, getting in each other's faces. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"What I mean is that's a nice gut you got there, ya fuck. What're you stupid, too?"

Jeff sucked in his stomach, making his chest appear larger in an attempt to seem more threatening. "Look, there are five of us and two of you. You really wanna start somethin' with us?"

Up until then, Soda, Steve, and Two-Bit had been keeping their distance, but now they stepped up. Johnny was a tough kid, and the guy he was with looked like he could do some serious damage, provoked or not, but the odds still weren't good.

Two-Bit walked up to Johnny and rested his elbow on Johnny's shoulder, chuckling. "I think the odds would be about even actually, Jeffy."

"Shuddup, ya stupid hood," one of the guys behind Jeff told him. "This doesn't concern you."

Two-Bit scratched the back of his neck, scrunching his face up in thought. "Yeah, but you see, Johnny here is a friend of ours, so I think it does."

Soda chuckled and took the cigarette Steve offered him. "What's the matter, Jeff? Afraid of a fair fight?"

Jeff scowled and clenched his fists, taking a few steps towards Sodapop. He narrowed his eyes, sneering at the younger boy, and wanting wipe the grin off of his face. Soda took a cool drag of his cigarette and flicked the ashes at Jeff's face; the two were about the same height, even with their age difference.

"Hey," one of the other Soc meats said, "ain't your brother buttboy or somethin' like that?"

Soda raised an eyebrow. "What's your friend talkin' about?"

"That's right …" Jeff said, smirking, "you're the one with funny name. Sodapop, right?" He and the others chuckled. "What a stupid name. Did your mom have intense cravings for Coke when she named you? And what's with your brother's name, huh? Ponyboy, right? He a horse or somethin'?" His friends snickered behind him.

Soda's fists clenched and his eyes narrowed—no one insulted his family. He and Ponyboy had heard it all for their names, and they dealt with it, but the smirk on Jeff's face infuriated Sodapop. He wanted to rip it off and throw it in the trash. First they get on Johnny's case for walking, and now they were getting on his case for his name? Oh _hell_ no. Sodapop had long since accepted the fact that Socs thought they were better than everyone else, but when they got personal—pointing out the bruises Johnny's dad gave him and Soda's original name—Soda got mad.

Jeff grinned maliciously. "You know why your name's Soda? 'Cause that bottle of pop your mom stuck up her after your daddy and her fucked didn't work. You were conceived in a mess of Pepsi."

In the matter of a second, Soda had dropped his cigarette and landed a punch across of Jeff's face, starting the fight. It was as fair a fight as they could get—five guys in junior high and five guys in senior high. Punches were thrown, kicks landed in areas no guy wants them to, and clothing was stained by grass and dirt. Soda had Jeff in a headlock, and was taking the blows to his ribcage with surprising calmness.

Shouts could be heard nearby, but none of the boys—whether they were grease or Soc—paid much attention, and the fighting continued.

"Break it up, break it up!"

Darry Curtis's football practice had just ended, and the last thing he wanted to see after running, tackling, and throwing for two hours was his kid brother and his friends in a fight with a bunch of his classmates. He dropped his helmet and his duffel bag and ran over to them all, grabbing Soda and prying him and Jeff apart. "Soda," he yelled, "lay off!"

Jeff landed one last punch to Soda's stomach as Darry pulled him away, making Soda double over, but not stop. Soda continued to pull away, trying to get out of Darry's grasp and swing another punch at Jeff's ugly face.

"Let me go, Darry!" Soda growled, and finally pulled himself out of his older brother's grip.

Darry took a step back, holding his hands up in surrender. Soda was panting something fierce, and there was a scowl on his face that hardly anyone ever saw. Darry looked behind him—his classmates were also panting from the fight, their adrenaline running, and their smirks back on their faces. It wasn't everyday that some grease's brother came to the rescue. When Darry looked back, he saw Two-Bit looking at a cut just over Johnny's eye and Steve taking a cigarette from the mean-looking towheaded kid.

"Why're you fightin', anyway?" Darry asked, looking back to Soda.

Soda glared at him, but Darry knew Soda's anger was towards Jeff and his little pack of jock friends. "You didn't hear what he said, Dar. I oughta-"

"You oughta nothin'," Darry told him, cutting him off, and placed a hand on his shoulder. "You've heard it all before; I know you have."

Soda shrugged it off. Darry didn't know what he was talking about; he hadn't been there. "If you'd've just heard, Darry," he muttered angrily. Darry just didn't seem to _get_ it, and he sure as hell wasn't seeing the looks those damn Socs were giving them. Soda wanted to smash their snobby, smirking faces into the ground.

Jeff laughed and started to walk away, telling his friends, rather loudly, "I guess we shook him up too much. Look's like his cap's gonna blow."

Darry grabbed hold of Soda the moment he lunged. "Oh yeah, you're real clever, Jeff," Soda called after him. "Too bad you talk faster than you can throw a punch!"

Darry let go of Soda, letting him sit down next to Steve and the towheaded kid, hoping he would cool off a bit. Steve nodded a greeting to Soda, and then motioned between him and the other guy. "Soda, Dallas. Dallas, Soda."

The two nodded an acknowledgement at each before Dallas went back to smoking his cigarette, and Soda turned to Steve, a scowl still on his face. "If Darry hadn't pulled me away, Steve, Jeff would be cryin' that he got beat up by a middle schooler by now."

Steve leaned back on his elbows lazily. "I know, man, I saw the way you were poundin' on him."

Soda ran his hands over his face angrily. "I just can't believe them. First acting like they own the ground we walk on, and then making fun of any name that ain't like theirs." He watched as Dallas threw his cigarette butt to the side and smirked.

The first thing Dallas Winston ever said to Sodapop Curtis was: "Well you know, they had a point. Soda's a fuckin' girl's name." He barely got a laugh out before Soda threw a punch.

Dallas was quick though. As soon as Soda's fist connected with Dallas's jaw, Dallas was punching back, and the two were going at it, giving each other bruises that made Johnny look like his dad had never been laid off.

"Knock. It. Off!" Darry yelled, and with the help of Two-Bit and Steve, pulled the two apart. "Jesus Christ, Soda, you've heard it all before. What's with you today?"

Soda shrugged out of his grasp, shoved his hands in his pockets, and walked away. Nothing was "with" him, really, and Soda wasn't even really sure why he had gotten so angry. It didn't matter what anyone called him, after all. He was still Sodapop Curtis.

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**So. Win or Fail? **

**Review, please. :)**


End file.
